


Roman AU - Slavefic reposted from LJ

by Fenchurch



Category: White Collar
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, M/M, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-06
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-10-15 11:13:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10555358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fenchurch/pseuds/Fenchurch
Summary: I answered a prompt on the white collar kinkmeme for a Roman AU... and here’s my first White Collar fic – un-beta’d, so please point out any mistakes...So this is sort of Peter/Neal, although Peter doesn't act on it yet and there are shades of future, maybe (if I can get my head round it) including El (eep - threesome?). As is completely normal with me, any naughtiness will happen off-screen so you can imagine it in technicolour glory yourselves.





	

Part One  
Peter never went to the Forum in Rome to buy slaves. For a start, they were always overpriced, but also they had all been conditioned, beaten, turned into whatever specialist the traders had earmarked them for. A metalworker or a dancing girl would earn much more money than an all-purpose ‘slave’. Traders in Rome were salesmen, people who had made ‘talking clients into parting with their money’ an art form. Peter was very good at seeing through the blather and the sales crap and he always ended up causing fights, arguments and, usually, several arrests when he went to the Forum. It was fun and it appealed to Peter’s sense of ‘doing the right thing’, but he never ended up with the slave he was looking for.

 

So El had vetoed him going to the Forum and he had become used to coming straight to the port where they unloaded the poor bastards from the ships. At least here he could see what the slaves were really like and maybe save... buy some of them. And they were cheaper here.

 

“I don’t know how you’re ever going to find ‘the one’ this way, Boss,” Jones muttered, half intending his Patron to hear him. It was a familiar gripe, one that was trotted out every time they came to Ostia.

 

While Peter had never been the kind of Patron who liked to have a hundred clients following him everywhere to show how important he was, he was the kind of Senator who took his duties seriously and he supported his clients. Jones had been a soldier in his regiment in Britain and had followed Peter back to Rome, acting as an amanuensis and best friend in spite of the gap in their social backgrounds. 

“I’ll know when I see him,” Peter replied with a smile, as he always did, ignoring Jones’ sigh.

 

There were slaves of all shapes and sizes being herded off the ships. Tall, small, fat, thin, women, men and children, all blinking in the bright daylight and grasping their chained hands or necks, depending on the ways of each captain. Peter watched from a near distance and did a quick mental tally, working out how many he could buy now...

 

“Catch him!” came a yell from one of the ships just pulling in and Peter turned in time to see a man climbing up a rope, water dripping from his dip in the sea. “He’s escaping!”

Yells of frustration ensued as the man slipped past the sailors from other ships, ducking past his potential captors. He still appeared to have a chain attached to one wrist, but had managed to free his other hand. He barrelled past the Captain of the ship Peter had been watching and ran straight towards Peter.

 

Peter saw the bright blue eyes of a man who was not desperate, but whose eyes were alight with excitement and hope. Peter stepped to one side to let the man through and saw a flash of gratitude on the escaping slave’s face.

 

“He’ll be caught,” Jones assured him and Peter nodded.

 

“But at least he will know that he tried to escape.”

 

The senator turned and watched as another mariner tackled the young man, who twisted and knocked the man off the quay. He could have escaped then, but the slave did an astonishing thing. He suddenly stopped, doubled back and then dived into the water to rescue the man he had been running from.

 

By the time both men were back on dry land, the slave was being chained up again and dragged towards his owners. He was thrown at the feet of the slaver who berated him, told him that he would be flogged and used and then dragged him away.

 

“Wait!” Peter shouted, running towards the slaver.

 

“Yes sir?” the slaver stopped on seeing the broad purple stripe on Peter’s tunic and toga. You didn’t turn your back on a Senator.

 

“I want to buy him,” Peter announced, holding out his hand to Jones for his purse.

 

“What? The escaping slave? Sir, he’s trouble,” the slaver spat and Peter winced at the awful manners.

 

“I really don’t care. How much?”

 

“I’m really sorry, sir, but they aren’t mine to sell. You need to talk to Edward Walker, sir, he’s the boss,” the Captain spat again. “But I don’t think you’ll get any joy – besides the stupid brat is mute or something!”

 

“He doesn’t sound mute!” Jones protested as they heard the sound of a whip and a cry of pain.

 

“How much to stop the whipping?” Peter asked.

 

“Stop the...?” the Captain asked, astonished. “But he’ll try and run again!”

 

“Stop it and let me talk to him. I’ll pay you well,” Peter insisted as arrogantly as he could. He was the son of a plebeian, but he had worked his way up the ranks and could be as arrogant as any noble born man.

 

The captain named a stupid price and Peter paid it without blinking, or listening to Jones’ muttering, and the slave was brought to him, thrown to his knees on the quayside. Even wet, bleeding, with torn clothes and at least a week’s growth of beard on the man’s face, he was beautiful.

 

 

“What is your name?” Peter asked, but the man’s blue eyes just carried on staring at him, pain filled and apprehensive.

“They’re all stupid bastards, sir,” the Captain explained with a grin, “bloody Celts!”

“Are you from Britain?” Peter asked in the language he had learned while in that soggy, misty dump of a country.

The slave’s eyes showed total astonishment and a grin spread across his face. “I am!” he replied.

“What is your name?” Peter asked slowly, feeling his way through the half-forgotten language.

“Neal Caffrey. Who are you?” The boy didn’t look right kneeling, but Peter couldn’t help seeing the life in him and... wanting him.

“I am Peter Burke. I am a Senator, and I wish to buy you,” Peter explained.

“I am a trader and I am not for sale,” Neal announced, proudly.

“I’m afraid you are a slave now and I would like to own you. I will track down this man who owns you and buy you.”

“I will run away. I am not slave material!” Neal laughed.

“Well, I have saved you from the rest of that whipping as long as you promise not to run away again. I will find you and give you a good life and then, when you reach thirty years old, I will free you,” Peter offered. “I need someone to help me to run my affairs, to be my valet and confident and to keep my secrets and I want it to be you.”

“I don’t know...” Neal replied slowly. “I can’t promise that I won’t run.”

“Then at least promise that you won’t run until I have bought you... or at least found you again,” Peter argued.

“Thank you for saving me from a horrible whipping and... and I’ll try and stay put until you find me again,” Neal offered and Peter smiled.

 

He then turned to Jones.

“Find me this man... this Walker.”

“Yes Boss,” Jones smiled and set off.

 

It took Jones over a week to find the man and then another few days to find Neal. After that it was a matter of minutes before Peter was storming through the streets of Rome, with a dozen clients following him and El’s words ringing in his ears.

“Find him, Peter, and bring him home!”

 

 

Walker’s house was a grand one, far grander than Peter’s small but comfortable home. Peter didn’t like ‘grand’ and ‘huge’ even though he could afford it. He had bought his house when he had first come back from Britain and started making his way up the greasy Cursus Honorum, but even Elizabeth had never pushed for him to move to a bigger home.

 

This house was huge, grand, expensive and, Peter was sure, bought with dirty money. He had no proof other than a suspicion and a feeling in his gut, but he wished he could destroy this man.

 

Walker himself was no better than Peter expected. He greeted Peter with a smile and a cheery welcome, although he didn’t stop throwing sesterces into the pool in his ostentatious garden.

“Senator, how kind of you to visit me. How can I help you?”

“I would like to buy a slave from you,” Peter announced bluntly.

“Really?” Walker managed to sound as though he had been expecting this call – and maybe he had. Peter ground his teeth and tried to be gracious.

“You own a Celt who is rather pretty, but who has a habit of running away. I would like to relieve you of him,” Peter explained.

“Ah yes, you mean Britannicus. No, I like him and I think I’ll keep him.” Walker turned away and it looked as though the interview was over, but then he began to speak. “You are a Senator, but I bet you’re finding it hard to keep the million that you need to stay where you are. You are honest and law-abiding and fiercely loyal to Vespasian, but even in your world, you are poor.” He turned back and looked Peter in the eye. “It’s all about power and influence! I was born to slave parents, but look at me!” He waved an arm around to indicate his opulent palace. “You know your way out, I think.” He turned back to his game and Peter was dismissed.

 

Peter was furious, but not beaten yet.

“Show me where he is,” he commanded and Jones had no need to ask for clarification, but led the way.

 

Peter was not a frequenter of brothels – who needs a prostitute when you have Elizabeth waiting for you at home? – but even he knew that this was not one of the better ones. This was the type where you crept in under cover of dark, where you never announced your name and where the whores were there to be used in any way you chose. He and his gang slipped into the bath-house opposite.

“You can’t go in there, Boss!” Jones begged, “Your reputation would be ruined!”

“I don’t have a reputation!” Peter retorted, but he knew that Jones had a point. “Tell me how you found out he was in there!”

Jones blushed. “I...er... don’t tell Lauren...”

Peter laughed. “What do they do in there?”

“Anything, Boss... I... I paid for Neal and we... we just chatted,” Jones stuttered.

“Jones...” Peter encouraged menacingly.

“He... he’s a favourite with clients who like it... rough, Boss,” Jones admitted. “He had been badly beaten when I saw him and then... raped. I know they say you can’t rape a whore, but.... this was wrong! He was bleeding! I just told him to get some rest.”

 

Peter looked like he wanted to punch someone. Neal was pretty rather than handsome and he could understand why his boyish looks would attract men, but he couldn’t understand why anyone would want to hurt him like that. Was it that Neal’s being a man meant that he could take more punishment than a woman? Or was it just simply that there were some seriously sick men in existence who needed to degrade and hurt just to be able to get their rocks off? Or both? Whatever, Peter needed to get details and he needed to get Neal out of there. Neal was his to protect!

Peter looked at his small gaggle of clients and chose one at random. They had all been slaves of his whom he had freed, or they were businessmen who had borrowed from him, or sons of friends, or ex-soldiers from the Second.

 

“Blake – you’ve always wanted to rise in the ranks!” Peter smiled and slipped off his broad-striped clothes, handing them to his minion.

 

“Yes Boss!” Blake stepped forward happily and took the money and clothes offered by his Patron, offering his own good-quality but plebeian clothes in exchange.

 

“What are you going to do?” Jones asked querulously.

 

Peter had a twinkle in his eye and a grin on his face as he said, “I’m going to meet with an old friend.” Then he started handing out instructions.

 

 

The brothel was even worse than Peter had expected. It cost a fortune, the plaster was peeling from the walls, the wine was so awful even Peter could tell, and there was musty smell of sweat and despair about the place that was not covered by the sweet, sickly perfume.

 

It took some time and Peter had to see a few pretty boys, who primped and preened in front of him, before he was finally shown to Neal’s room. Normally, he gathered, the boys were brought out to meet and entice the client, but once Peter was in Neal’s room, it was clear why this hadn’t happened this time. A long, thin but strong chain was attached to the wall and Neal’s ankle.

 

“You!” Neal started in surprise, getting up slowly from the filthy bed.

 

“Me!” Peter agreed with a smile.

 

Neal looked disappointed, but he came forward with a plastered-on smile and held out his hands to begin the session. “How I please Master?” he asked in appallingly accented Latin.

 

“You can cut that out for a start” Peter cried out in British, stepping backwards. “Sit down and relax. I’m not here for that. I came to talk.”

 

“Talk?” Neal was surprised. “Not even your man wanted to talk!”

 

“Jones? No, he’s not talkative and his British isn’t as good as mine. Runs more to ‘another beer please’ rather than intense philosophical discussion.”

 

“He let me sleep!” Neal said wistfully.

 

“I’m going to have a look at you,” Peter announced and wasn’t surprised when Neal winced a little, although he tried to cover it. “Don’t panic. I’m here to help. Now, I gather the ankle chain isn’t normal, so you’ve tried to run away.”

 

“Yes, but they caught me,” Neal shrugged as though it didn’t matter, although it clearly did.

 

“Why did you run? You must know that Walker has men everywhere ready to catch you!” Peter admonished.

 

“I had to get away – you wouldn’t understand,” Neal glowered.

 

“Ah... girlfriend?” Peter guessed and was amused by Neal’s surprise. “I made all my clients spy on my wife before I asked for her hand in case she was interested in someone else!” He confided.

 

“Romantic!” Neal teased. “Kate... she’s special.” Neal saw Peter’s face go carefully blank, and carried on, “Oh, no, not like that! She’s... she’s like my sister!”

 

“Your partner in crime?”

 

Neal grinned beatifically, dimples flashing, “Yeah!”

 

“So you ran away to find her?” Neal nodded, “and?”

 

“She’s gone. I know she’s free, but... someone’s got her. She’s in danger,” Neal told Peter with some agitation.

 

“Neal, I’m going to buy you. I tried directly, but Walker denied me just because he can, so I’ll try another way. I am a Senator and I will do all I can to help you find your Kate. Who is she?”

 

“Trader like me,” Neal said with a shy smile.

 

“But not an ‘honest’ trader?” Peter guessed. “You pretended to be a trader... when I was stationed in Britain, there were many Celts who sold artefacts to Romans, pretending that they had belonged to Boudicca – I bet you were one of those!”

 

Neal grinned, “Romans are so obsessed with history because they don’t have as much of it as the Greeks. Dress up a few coins or dust up some jewellery and then tell them that ‘Boudicca awarded it to me!’ and they’ll buy anything!”

 

“Why? Why risk everything like that?” Peter asked.

 

“I have never been the warrior type, so I had to make my own way in life. I’m too pretty though,” Neal admitted sadly, “People always want to own me, and when they can’t, they try to ruin me. That’s why I’m here.” Neal pulled frustratedly at the chain and then winced again.

 

“Predicament you can’t talk your way out of, huh?” Peter guessed. He pulled back Neal’s flimsy clothing and saw the truth on his new friend’s back. There were plenty of recent marks of beating and whipping and Peter couldn’t help pulling Neal into his arms, offering him clumsy comfort.

 

Neal clung at the warmth being offered and allowed himself a brief fantasy of belonging to this man.

 

“Tell me the truth, Neal. What has been done to you?”

 

“Oh, everything!” Neal said off-handedly.

 

“Your back tells me that you have been whipped many times. By clients?”

 

“Yeah, for fun. And by the Master here, for running and when I didn’t perform well,” Neal admitted, no longer bothering to fight. There was something about Peter that made Neal instinctively want to own up to the truth.

 

“You have been beaten too,” Peter stated, seeing the bruises on his torso and pretty much everywhere but the slave’s face and limbs. “And restrained,” he continued examining the bruises around Neal’s wrists and ankles.

 

“Yeah,” Neal agreed, “You Romans are sick!”

 

“Yeah, ‘cos it would never happen in Britain!” Peter commented sarcastically. “I’m trying to work out how best to help you, Neal.”

 

“Just... just get me out of here!” Neal was close to begging, but he controlled himself and made his expression return to ‘blank’ and ‘charming’. “Please?”

 

“I will own you, Neal,” Peter warned. “You will be my slave, but... how old are you?”

 

“Twenty-six!” Neal admitted, “Why?”

 

“Then I will own you for four years. The law says that in four years time I can free you. During that time you will work for me and I will do all I can to help you to find Kate,” Peter assured him. “I will not allow anything like this to happen to you again and you will be safe. Can you stay with me?”

 

Neal was quiet for a long moment. “I... I can’t promise not to try to run away... but I promise I won’t lie to you, I will be loyal to you, but I will look for Kate.”

 

Peter nodded. “I have work to do and questions to ask you...” He looked quizzically at the slave, “Why did you go back and help that guy in the water? The day we met?”

 

Neal thought back and then lowered his eyes as he remembered.

 

“What if he couldn’t swim? Those boats are dangerous, they bash against the quay and... I couldn’t let him die because of me.”

 

“You could have got away, but you went back to help one of your pursuers. That’s why I like you, Neal,” Peter told him. “Now, tell me about this place and where the secrets are kept.”

 

Neal grimaced, and then he grinned cheekily, “But surely we can have some fun first? You are attracted to me, aren’t you?”

 

Oh Gods, yes! Peter was attracted, but he pushed Neal away and said, “Talk!”

***

“What are you doing here?” Walker looked around at the plebeian man who had just been brought to his courtyard. He was a short, bald man with a nervous air. “I pay you to be my eyes and ears in the Forum!”

 

“Yes, sir, but... It’s Senator Burke, sir. He’s saying that he’s got proof from the White Pelican brothel that you are involved in various nefarious schemes! He knows about that job you made it financially feasible for me to do! He claims that you are corrupt and that you claim ships that are technically not your own! Not as eloquently as I...”

 

“How did he...?” Walker demanded, interrupting the little man’s speech and throwing down the scroll he was reading. In Rome a rich man was as rich as his influence unless he came from one of the noble families. This could ruin him. “It doesn’t matter! Get down there now and start collecting up the books! I want all links between me and that place eradicated!”

 

Walker stood and called for his clients and slaves, pulling on his toga while a slave fussed over the folds. The short man smiled in a very self-satisfied manner and slipped away in the fuss, taking a few souvenirs with him on his way out, signalling as he left that all was going to plan.

 

In the Forum, Walker found that everyone was waiting for him to arrive. Men who had been clients and business associates stared at him disdainfully and he saw red. Peter was in the middle, surrounded by his own clients, waiting.

 

“You! I accuse you of defamation! You are spreading slanderous lies about me and I demand retribution! You could get the death penalty for this!”

 

“I could,” Peter replied calmly, “if anything I have said were untrue, but you do own a brothel where the prostitutes are all sick with fever and have half-healed wounds at all times. You did steal your first fortune from a banker’s chest with help from a friend of mine and your slaves are stolen. I accuse you of piracy among other things!”

 

“Where is your proof?” Walker snarled.

 

“Right here!” said a newcomer and everyone gasped at the theatricality. Of course no one had really missed seeing the Praetorian Guard suddenly appearing in the middle of the Forum, but it was funny to see that Walker was surprised. “Burke?”

 

“Justinus!” Peter grinned gleefully and greeted his Praetorian friend and colleague from the campaigns in Britain. “What did you find?”

 

“Just as you said – the real books with his name all over them were hidden in the wall behind the hangings, along with the ledgers from three ships that didn’t belong to him! There were a couple of his clients trying to hide the evidence too. I need to look at it in detail, but there’s enough here to be going on with.”

 

Praetorians grasped Walker by the arms.

 

“You can’t do this!” Walker cried struggling. “The Emperor will never allow this...”

 

“Oh, I think he will!” said a quiet voice behind him. “Hello Peter,”

 

The thing about Vespasian was that he didn’t look like an Emperor... until he spoke, then the quiet dignity was just compelling. Peter smiled.

 

“You see, Walker, it’s all about power and influence,” Peter flung the man’s words back at him with a smirk. “Thank you, sir.” He turned and bowed to the Emperor, who had also campaigned in Britain.

 

 

While Walker was led away, Vespasian led Peter to one side and indicated that he should sit next to him.

 

“You did good work there, Peter,” the Emperor said quietly. “Walker was too clever and I don’t like dishonesty.”

 

“He has something I want, sir,” Peter explained again to the ruler of the world.

 

“Let me get it for you as a reward.”

 

“That would be...” Peter’s face lit up.

 

“But, first, we have much tidying up to do. I want you to make sure that this man does not get away with his crimes,” the Emperor stood and Peter stood with him, bowing.

 

“Justinus will come to your aid if you need back-up, but I want you to keep an eye out for cases like this.”

 

Peter sighed inwardly, but smiled at the Emperor and agreed.

 

“Come to an informal dinner on the 12th at the palace and we will discuss your reward and your new business.”

 

“Yes sir,” Peter agreed.

 

Two weeks later, Peter was standing inside the palace, meeting with his old mentor, Senator Hughes and Justinus. He also met the two princes, Titus and Domitian, and a couple more Praetorian higher-ups.

 

A lady appeared and Peter bowed over her hand, realising that she was the freedwoman, Caenis, that the Emperor was definitely not having a long term and very romantic love affair with. She asked to be remembered to El and then moved on, taking Domitian with her.

 

 

After a rather splendid feast that Peter enjoyed all the more for it being quite simple, the men had all discussed the way that Peter should call on them if he was capturing criminals and Vespasian informed them that Walker had ‘fallen on his sword’.

 

“Was he pushed, sir?” Peter asked reprovingly and received the expected blank look from the Emperor and his friend Justinus.

 

“Does it matter?” Hughes asked. “Man’s dead and most of his property is forfeit to the State.”

 

“I am very pleased with you,” Vespasian grinned and Peter bit back his anger. Vespasian was always strapped for cash and the wealthy felon’s property would be a great help. “So, I have a reward for you.”

 

 

The Emperor beckoned with his left hand and a guard pushed Neal forward, pressing down on his shoulders until he knelt. Peter gasped.

 

He had been searching high and low for the slave, watching sales and searching through prisons, calling in every favour he could think of, but he had been totally unable to find the man. Neal looked well, and he exchanged a cheeky glance with Peter before lowering his eyes in a show of respect.

 

“I didn’t think your tastes ran to masculine and pretty,” Vespasian commented with a lifted eyebrow.

 

Lying with other men was not exactly acceptable, but it was known to happen, especially with pretty slaveboys. Men like Peter could get away with it as long as it was known that he ‘threw’ instead of ‘caught’. Sleeping with a male slave was fine – sleeping openly with a fellow free man could be politically disastrous, unless the man further up in the social order could prove that he was the ‘thrower’.

 

“They don’t, sir. I like them clever and devious... and there because they want to be, not because I own them or paid for them,” Peter smiled. “My beautiful wife is my partner, but I want this slave for his mind.”

 

“Good! I’m not sorry for keeping him here, he had a lot of healing to do. Here, Peter, he’s yours, but beware, do not let him wander far. I would hate to have to mar that pretty face with ugly burnt letters,” the Emperor said and stood, moving away and taking his guards and other guests with him.

 

 

When all had left, saying their farewells and giving their congratulations and support as they went, Peter looked down at Neal, who was still kneeling. He had been given a stylish grey tunic, edged in gold, that almost reached his knees, and by his side there was a bundle. Still he looked up at Peter and smiled, blue eyes sparkling.

 

“So, now you can stop pretending you don’t speak Latin,” Peter said in his own language and Neal’s grin almost split his face.

 

“You’re the only one to have called me on it,” Neal answered also in Latin, his accent almost perfect.

 

“What is that around your ankle?” Peter asked, catching a glint of gold.

 

“Present from the Emperor,” Neal grimaced, standing up. He then lifted his ankle and showed his new owner.

 

It was a gold bangle, pinched closed around his left ankle, beaten flat and inscribed.

 

“He said it was this or being branded... he wouldn’t really have an F burnt on my forehead would he?” Neal shivered and grimaced.

 

“It’s what people usually do to slaves who run away,” Peter shrugged. “Show me your anklet. What does it say?” Peter asked, reaching out and feeling the gold band.

 

“That I belong to you now,” Neal grinned.

 

Peter didn’t say anything, but felt around the band, feeling the letters beaten into it and feeling a thrill of ownership such as he had never felt before. It made him think, strangely of Elizabeth, but he dismissed the thought and stood. Neal picked up a large bundle that had been at his feet and fell in behind him, shaking his ankle as though getting used to the band.

 

“At least it won’t chafe like the other one and it’s made of gold,” Neal commented, sounding pleased.

 

Peter muttered something about Emperors who were no better than they should be and then signalled to his escort that it was time to go home.


End file.
